


Dead Man's Sword

by dfotw



Series: DA Shared Universe [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Awkward Conversations, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 02:05:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4286532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dfotw/pseuds/dfotw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alistair will understand darkspawn before he can understand women. Or elves. Or romance. But jokes, jokes he can do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dead Man's Sword

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of the joint Dragon Age universe I have with **yunhaiiro** , set at some unspecified point mid-game.

Alistair will understand darkspawn before he can understand women, he thinks as he trudges into camp. Behind him, Leliana and Malia are giggling, heads bent close together; still discussing his 'perfomance', Maker forbid. He feels his cheeks flush, and looks around the camp for something to distract him.

Kwerkus is sitting by the fire, fletching bolts. There. An oasis of sensibility in a camp increasingly filled with mad people of all sorts. Witches, assassins, golems... Some days, Alistair thinks there's a good chance the Archdemon will be so puzzled by their motley crew that it will be that moment of surprise what gives them the crucial advantage when the time comes.

He sighs when he sits down next to his fellow Warden. Kwerkus grunts his acknowledgment, but otherwise keeps quiet. Blessed, blessed silence.

“If I may, my dear friend.” Alistair doesn't jump, not at all. Zevran did not sneak on him, he was just... distracted. “I understand this might not be a lesson taught in Chantries, but may I advise you to never get in the way of giggling women? Men never hear anything flattering then, you see.”

“It was flattering!” Alistair protests. “Very flattering. I think.”

Zevran laughs out loud. Kwerkus, kinder, only snorts in badly-concealed amusement. Alistair glares at him. Is no one on his side? Wynne has warned him about getting too close to Malia, Leliana wants to discuss his performance, and he knows that Morrigan is just waiting for the right moment to turn him into a frog. It's enough to rattle a good man's confidence, never too sturdy to begin with.

“You know, I could give some of that root I mentioned to you the other day...” Zevran continues.

“Awkward!” Alistair calls out, and covers his ears; by his side, Kwerkus is shaking with silent laughter. “Awkward,” Alistair repeats for good measure, lowering his hands now that Zevran is too busy smirking to talk. “And I was given The Talk by a Reverend Mother, I know awkward.”

“That explains a lot,” says Kwerkus.

“Hey!” Alistair turns and looks into Kwerkus' smirk. “Traitor.”

“It's funny,” says his fellow Warden, unrepentant. “You and Malia. How many pounds of armour do you have to take off before something can happen between you two?”

“The clanging of metal when they kiss...” Zevran can hardly speak, he's laughing so hard.

“I'm going to sit with Sandal,” Alistair threatens. “He's a better conversationalist than you two.”

“Hey.” Kwerkus knocks his shoulder against Alistair's; Zevran, perhaps guessing that the fun is over, wanders away. “It's good, you two. You're happy. She's happy, Dirthamen knows why. Don't let Wynne get to you.”

“I don't. I didn't. I mean, I know she means well.” Alistair scratches the back of his neck. “She talked to you too, didn't she? About Zevran. And that...” He grimaces. “That turned out well.”

Kwerkus is watching him, eyebrows raised.

“Is this you giving us your blessing?” the elf asks. 

Alistair can't tell if Kwerkus is joking or not; the elf can be even less expressive than Shale when he wants to be.

“Just...” he flounders for something safe to say. “It's like you said. You're happy. Zevran's happy. He hasn't stabbed anyone in the back yet. All in all, it's considerably less bloody and tragic than I thought it might be.”

“High praise,” Kwerkus says wryly, but there's a small smile on his face, and Alistair knows he's navigated this encounter successfully. He barely contains the urge to let out a relieved sigh; jokes he can do, but conversations about feelings are difficult.

He looks around the camp, and stops.

In Templar training, a move had been drilled into them that Alistair thought summed up the Templar mindset perfectly: the Dead Man's Sword, when you dropped your guard in order to deliver a killing blow. Yes, the teachers used to say, you'll probably be killed the moment you do this in actual battle, but then _so will your opponent_.

Alistair thinks of those old lessons and smiles.

“Hm,” he says, as innocently as he can manage. “I wonder what Malia and Zevran are talking about? They're giggling an awful lot.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, feedback is always appreciated!


End file.
